


Stay Close to Me

by RipUpTheEnding



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, M/M, Masturbation, Theme of King JJ (as a boner killer), Yuuri is very confused about his feelings, katsudonbang2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 01:17:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10205621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RipUpTheEnding/pseuds/RipUpTheEnding
Summary: Five times Yuuri calls Victor his coach and one time he doesn’t.Or the one where Yuuri figures out what Victor means to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2017 Katsudon Bang](https://katsudonbang.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thanks once again to Muse and Jojo for a wonderful challenge and to the DM chat for keeping me endlessly entertained!
> 
> Extra special thanks to Dmitri for the absolutely *gorgeous* art for this challenge! (Found in section 4!)  
> [Art of Tumblr](http://feathergrave.tumblr.com/post/158238676155/stay-close-to-me-i-participated-in-my-first-bang)
> 
> *this story takes place during season 1 and as such, contains several direct quotes from the show!*

_I hear a voice crying far away_

_Have you been abandoned as well?_

_Come now, let’s empty this glass of wine soon_

_I’ll start getting ready_

_Now be silent._

_With a sword I wish I could cut those throats singing about love_

_I wish I could seal in the cold the hands that portray those verses of burning passion_

_This story that makes no sense_

_Will vanish tonight along with the stars_

_If I could see you from hope eternity will be born_

_Stay close to me, don’t go_

_I’m afraid of losing you_

_Your hands, your legs,_

_My hands, my legs,_

_Our heartbeats_

_Are fusing together_

_Let’s leave together_

_I’m ready now_

_~_

**_Aria: Stay Close to Me_ **

_(Victor’s Free Skate song)_

****

 

**+1**

**Grand Prix Final Banquet**

Yuuri should know better. Really. It’s not like it’s a surprise that he goes off the rails when he drinks, just like his Kyushu born-and-bred dad. He’s tried to lay off the alcohol and for the most part he’s been successful, just a sip or two of champagne at every banquet this season so far. Then again, it’s pretty easy to lay off the drinking when you’re winning; not so much when you crash and burn on the ice at the finals in front of the entire world and your skating idol.

Frowning, Yuuri takes another sip of his champagne. That sip quickly becomes a gulp, followed by another and another until he’s finished off the entire glass in three swallows. Carelessly, he abandons the glass on the table next to his growing collection and picks up another filled flute. He’s going to pay for this tomorrow, he already knows—a headache is coming to life under his right eye and making his eyelid twitch—but it’ll all be worth it if he can get through tonight without making an even bigger fool of himself. If he forgets this day entirely, it’ll be a bonus.

Probably.

Mostly.

As terrible as his own performance was, and as much as he’d like to forget that he ever even entertained the fantasy of figure skating professionally (much less ever actually attempted it), he _would_ like to remember sharing the ice with Victor just this one time. That part of his dream came true so at least he’s not a total failure.

But who is he kidding anyway? Really? The Zamboni shared the ice with Victor too and it’s not like that hunk of machinery is winning any medals anytime soon.

God, he’s pathetic. And judging from how Victor’s been eying him for the last hour, he must think so too. Not that Yuuri blames him. Not at all. Anyone that talented and beautiful and perfect has earned the right to judge others. Especially the loser who fails in front of the world, drinks too much at the banquet to mask his feelings, and then to top it all off, challenges the other skaters to dance-offs in a desperate attempt to regain some sort of self-esteem.

_Wait, what?_

Groaning, Yuuri wipes his free hand down his face, rubbing at his alcohol-heavy lids and eyes. The images flit through his brain like a broken film reel. They’re brief and blurry—a leg here, a pole there, various stages of dress and intoxication—completely embarrassing and what’s worse, unmistakably real. Apparently he won the dance off with Yurio and kept his clothes on, which is more than he can say for his dance off with Chris.

Yuuri grabs sloppily at his own body and sighs, relieved, as he catalogues. Pants, shoes, shirt (un-tucked), and tie (loosened). He’s wearing clothes again, at least, though he’s not entirely sure they all belong to him.

Melting into the floor would be good right about now. Or maybe spontaneous combustion. He’ll take that too, the attention and all, if it means he never has to think about any of this ever again. The last thing he should do is drink more champagne but hey, he’s already made a total spectacle of himself both on and off the ice. What else does he have to lose?

Yuuri downs another glass of champagne and pretends like that makes sense.

And it does, about as much sense as him touching and talking to Victor.

But Yuuri _is_ doing those things, right now, in front of everyone (and when _the hell_ did that happen?), so he must not be completely off.

And Victor. Victor is touching him back, and talking too. And looking. He’s looking at Yuuri with those pretty, pretty eyes that charm judges and reporters and fans and the world. He’s looking at Yuuri like he matters. Like he means something. And that, well that means something to Yurri.

Yuuri breaks.

He throws his arms around Victor’s neck and crashes their bodies together, hips rocking unconsciously with the aftershocks. It feels good. _So_ damn good. Good in a way that he’s never experienced. Bone deep. Solid. Invigorating.

Confusing but… _right._

The last thing he wants in the world is to let go, or for Victor to let go of him.

“Be my coach, Victor!”

Victor chuckles and pulls Yuuri closer, pressing a warm kiss to his forehead when no one’s looking. “Sweet, little yagodka,” he whispers. _/Sweet, little berry/_

So, yeah. Yuuri probably should’ve kept better track of his drinking tonight. And he probably should have kept even better track of his hands and his mouth. But whatever. It’s his last banquet and he hugged his idol and he’s just one of the many dime-a-dozen figure skaters certified by the JSF. It’s not like anyone will remember this, or him, in a year anyway.

 

**+2**

**Hot Springs on Ice**

The camera flashes are like strobe lights in the audience and for a moment Yuuri fears he’ll be sick, that he’ll throw up right there on the podium in front of everyone he’s ever known. What a fitting way to kick off his new start. It’d be just like him, really, to mess up now when things are finally looking up.

_Stupid, Yuuri._

He’s not really thinking about it when he shifts closer to Victor, drawing on his strength. It’s almost instinctual.

“Do you hear that?” Victor whispers, his breath tickling Yuuri’s ear. “They are cheering for you.”

Yuuri wants to argue. The words are on the tip of his tongue, a hundred different canned statements ready to tumble out on command, but he’s still flying high from his performance. And standing on the first place podium at the center of the rink, tucked securely under Victor’s arm while his friends and family cheer him on, even Yuuri can’t deny that he deserves this. The execution was far from perfect but he made music with his body. This sickness and fear fades, if only for now. He hasn’t felt this confident in years.

Victor squeezes his shoulder and Yuuri smiles up at him, wondering how far they’ll go together.

_Can we take it all? Can we make it to the Grand Prix Final?_

_Can we win?_

He has only a second to panic before Victor interrupts him, a sparkle in his eyes and mischief in his voice. “Even though you did change my program...”

“I did _not_ change your program!” Yuuri gasps, mock offended, but then Victor’s grinning at him and Yuuri can’t hide his blush when he looks down and mumbles, “Not really.”

“True,” Victor hums. “You did not drastically alter any choreography, but the _way_ your performed it…”

“You can thank Minako for that.”

“Can I now?”

“She taught me to move more… _seductively._ ” Yuuri fumbles over the last word, blushing even more. His performance high is wearing off and he’s starting to feel sick again. Looking down again, he tries to shy away but Victor catches his chin and turns his head, stares directly in his eyes. Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat.

“Without confidence, nothing she taught you would have made a difference. But you did well. You took what she taught you and made it your own. The performance was very… _eros._ And _that_ ,” Victor chuckles with a smirk, “ _that_ was all you.

“Well, actually that was all you,” Yuuri says, because apparently his filter disappeared along with his performance high. And now Victor is looking right through him and stroking his chin and being beautiful and just plain existing. It’s not fair.

Victor, per usual, sense Yuuri’s discomfort, and his lips twitch as he moves closer. “Was it now?”

Ten seconds ago, Yuuri’s answer might have been different. He might have told Victor the truth. That it wasn’t noodles and egg and crispy pork he thought of on the ice; it was Victor.

Victor was the backbone of his performance, not katsudon, and Yuuri knows it’s true. He feels it to his very bones and it’s as natural as breathing.

_Who am I dancing for? I know who._

Oh, does he know who. The problem is that he doesn’t understand what it all means, and that scares him. What’s more, how can he explain it all to Victor when he can’t even explain it to himself?

What if Yuuri scares Victor away when he only just agreed to stay?

He knows he can’t avoid the topic forever, not is he wants to keep Victor as his coach—and he _really_ wants to keep Victor as his coach—so he’ll have to unpack the whole thing later when he’s not crashing from a performance. But Victor is still looking at him expectantly, and since Yuuri can’t tell him this, he settles for a different truth instead.

“You said your job is to make me feel confident in myself. And now I do. Feel confident, that is. And that’s all because of you.” Victor smiles and Yuuri adds, “Because you’re a good coach.”

There’s a beat, so small Yuuri almost misses it before Victor softy says, “Thank you.” Then he smiles again but this time, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Yuuri will have to unpack that later too.

 

**+3**

**The Cup of China**

The day is a disaster from the start.

Yuuri wakes before his alarm, before first light even, a crick in his neck and his heart trying to break free from his rib cage.

 _Right on cue,_ he thinks, kneading uselessly at the knotted muscles in his shoulders and neck. The stress dreams are officially back and it won’t be long until they turn until full blown nightmares. This should be his first clue, this and the full body stiffness when he finally drags himself out of bed sometime around what he guesses to be an hour later; but like so many times in the past he shoves it all back in favor of more pressing issues, like his Free Skate at The Cup of China later in the day.

They’re not going to postpone the event because Yuuri had a bad night, so what’s the point of bringing it up anyway? He’ll just compartmentalize and review later like always. What could possibly go wrong?

Except Yuuri knows _exactly_ what can go wrong, as evidenced by his epic failure at last year’s Grand Prix Final. Nothing stays hidden forever, not inside your own head and especially not on the ice. Apparently Victor knows this too.

He takes one look at Yuuri, bleary eyed and swaying cyclically next to the rink, before he sends him off to bed with orders to sleep. Not that it’ll do any good, but Yuuri’s too tired to argue and Victor smells too good draped over him. He feels even better. Yuuri shuts his eyes.

For the second time today Yuuri wakes painfully, this time a violent transition from sleep to wakefulness when Victor’s alarm goes off, a noise caught somewhere between a broken bell and tearing metal. Or so Yuuri’s exhausted brain translates for him.

He managed to get a few hours of sleep, he notes, glancing at the clock, but as he predicted it was all but worthless. If anything, it’s only made matters worse, and by the time they make in back to the stadium, Yuuri’s barely holding on.

Once again, Victor immediately notice Yuuri’s state and forbids him from doing jumps during practice. And once again, Yuuri should know better, he really really should, but he’s just tired enough and stressed enough that he gives him.

He jumps.

He falls.

He falls apart.

The only thing keeping Yuuri from shattering into a million pieces as they stand in the empty parking garage is Victor’s hands on his cheeks, holding him carefully but firmly, like Yuuri is something precious, something deserving of attention and respect, of admiration. It’s too much.

Yuuri’s been here before—his family watching him, his country, the world—and he crumbled under the pressure. But somehow this, the weight of Victor’s expectations, of what will happen if Yuuri fails—again—is so much more. He has to get out of here and back to the rink while he’s still in control, but it’s too late. Victor speaks before Yuuri makes it a step away.

“If you mess up this free skate and miss the podium, I’ll take responsibility by resigning as your coach,” Victor says confirming Yuuri’s worst fear, and that’s it. It’s all over.

There’s a moment, the space of a breath that seems to stretch on for an eternity before Yuuri finally lets go, tears streaming down his cheeks and words flying from his mouth in a frenzy as Victor watches on, wide eyed and worried.

“Just have more faith than I do that I’ll win. You don’t have to say anything. Just stand by me!” Yuuri finishes loudly, chest heaving. And then Victor’s arm is around him, holding him close as they reenter the rink, their slow procession accompanied by Georgi’s free skate music.

The words “save me now” echo through the stadium and Yuuri’s brain automatically jumps to a cruel joke about how he needs saving right now, but before the joke can fully form another thought brings that all to a screeching halt.

He doesn’t need to be saved: not now, not anymore, and certainly not by anyone else.

His breakdown in the garage wasn’t so much of a breakdown as it was an unburdening, and something tells him that Victor knows this too; that despite his inexperience and his mistakes, Victor has the makings of a fantastic coach.

He’s become exceptionally attuned to Yuuri’s needs, and this situation is no exception. He helped Yuuri find a way to save himself before his free skate.

Yuuri’s heart soars and he’s barely able to hold back a laugh from the joy bubbling up inside of him. He wants to thank Victor, _needs_ to with every fiber of his being, but if he opens his mouth it’s all over.

Instead, he’ll do what he does best. He’ll show his thanks and his love on the ice.

**~~~**

When the post-medal ceremony interview begins, Yuuri’s lips are still tingling. He resists the urge to touch them but only just barely, several flashbulbs going off at once and snapping him from his reverie. He looks to Victor, hoping no one noticed his distraction, and immediately blushes. So much for that. But Victor is just so proud and Yuuri’s insides are a happy, gooey mess.

“Now that Yuuri can do a quadruple flip he’ll definitely win at the Rostelecom Cup and advance to the Grand Prix Final. I’m looking forward to going to Russia as his coach.”

Yuuri smiles, his blush deepening.

 _Victor may be inexperienced as a coach but he’s **my** coach,_ Yuuri thinks.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

**+4**

**The Rostelecom Cup**

Yurio finds him on the bridge sometime after the Rostelecom Cup awards ceremony, an early birthday present and peace offering in hand.

“Pork cutlet bowl pirozhkis,” Yurio tells Yuuri as he bites into the treat. “My grandpa made them himself! Great, aren’t they?”

Yurio is proud and Yuuri is grateful, both for the food and their newfound camaraderie. They eat greedily in peace and silence.

“Your jumps have improved,” Yurio says sometimes later as he devours the last of his pirozhki and wipes at his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

Yuuri hums, chewing. “Thanks for helping me.”

“I said your jumps have improved, not that they have improved much.”

“And I thanked you for your help, not for successfully teaching me anything.”

Yurio narrow his eyes but they soften a bit when Yuuri eventually quirks his lip. “Fine. Give all the credit to your precious Victor. See if I care.”

“Well, he _is_ a fantastic coach.” Yuuri smiles.

“Coach,” Yurio snorts, barely audible, and Yuuri’s just about to ask what he means by that when his phone chirps an incoming message.

The phone is out of his pocket and unlocked in a second, heart in his throat, all else forgotten.

“Victor,” he sighs, relief washing over him as he reads the message to Yurio. “It’s about Makkachin! He has to stay at the vet’s office over night but he’s going to be fine!”

Yurio nods, clasping his hands. “That is good.”

Another message comes through, this one with a picture. In it, Victor sits on the floor of what must be the veterinarian’s office, Makkachin curled up asleep in his lap. Victor’s eyes are wet and tired but he’s smiling. Yuuri can’t help but smile as well, his cheeks heating up and heart pounding, breath coming faster.

Yurio gags. “You two are disgusting.”

“What?” Yuuri asks, brow pinched. His head swims but not necessarily in a bad way, just… new. And why is he still blushing?

“I thought it was bad enough in Hasetsu having to watch you two skate around each other like morons, but this,” Yurio makes a vague gesture between Yuuri and his phone and then gags again, a full on body shudder at the end for added effect. “This is just gross. Blech!”

Yuuri blinks, owlishly. There’s something coming together inside of him, a word or a feeling perhaps, pooling deep in his gut. It fades before he can get a complete picture but something tells him that’s it’s so obvious he should already know. Problem is, things have never been obvious to Yuuri. Especially not things involving feelings.

He’s always been most comfortable in the sanctuary of the rink, nothing but his own company and the scrape of his blades on the ice. And while he still prefers that on most occasions, Victor’s opened him up to a whole new world. To feelings he never even knew existed, let alone felt. At the press conference to announce his skating theme he called it love but the word isn’t quite right either. Because it _is_ love but it’s also... _more,_ and his brain doesn’t know how to process that.

His emotions are a mess and he’s tried not to think about it, tried to spend his energy on the ice instead but he’s getting tired, both his brain and his body. And now Yurio’s glaring at him like he just caught Yuuri crying in a bathroom stall again. Like he’s just a stupid child, and maybe he is.

“What?” Yuuri snaps, indignantly, though his anger is directed inward.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Yurio squints his eyes and stares.

Yuuri stares back.

“You and Victor.”

“What _about_ me and Victor? He’s my coach,” Yuuri says and the word tastes funny in his mouth.

Groaning, Yurio rolls his eyes and steps right into Yuuri’s space, pointing a finger. “Whatever, loser. Just don’t let your… _coach_ affect your performance on the ice. When I beat you, I want you to be at your best.”

For a long time after Yurio leaves, Yuuri stands on the bridge in a daze.

 

**-1**

**The Rostelecom Cup: after**

It’s not something Yuuri does often. It always feels good when he gets down to it; the slow slip-slide of his hand, the warm pre-come on his dick, the way his balls tighten up and his stomach clenches and his hole spasms. Release is a long-awaited relief. But as good as it feels, it’s usually more of a chore than anything else, something reserved for those rare occasions when his mind and body are on edge and nothing else will bring him back from the brink. It’s a necessity more than a desire. Something to ease the anxiety and the nerves. Tonight is one of those times.

It’s the night after the Rostelecom Cup Free Skate when Yuuri wakes with a gasp, sheets sweat soaked and cool.

“Victor,” he calls automatically and his throat is raw and rough. _Another nightmare about the finals,_ he thinks. He must’ve been screaming. Again.

Groaning, he turns on his side and blinks against the darkness. “Victor,” he says again in the direction of the other bed as his eyes finally adjust. No answer because no Victor.

 _Makkachin,_ Yuuri remembers with a frown. _I hope he’s still doing okay._

Yuuri flops back supine on his bed. His fingers twitch toward the night stand; he wants to grab his phone and call Victor, ask him to stay on the phone all night or even come back from Japan.

 _Victor would do it. I need him._ Yuuri reaches for the phone but stops himself.

Sometimes, he still has a hard time believing that any of this is real; that Victor is here and that he’s his coach. But it’s more than that because Victor isn't only a coach in name. He’s the real deal, a coach on and off the ice, ready and willing to do anything for Yuuri if only he asks.

And that's exactly why Yuuri _can't_ ask.

Victor has done enough for him as it is. He deserves this time to himself, to be with Makkachin and relax and work out his own nerves in peace without having to worry about taking care of his student. Besides, he’ll see Victor soon enough: tomorrow at the airport when he flies home to Japan. Yuuri can work this out on his own like he always has.

He tries breathing first; a slow steady inhale followed by an equally slow exhale. In, out, and then repeat, just like Minako taught him in ballet class all those years ago. It’s been his go-to for years, always helped calm those jitters and doubts for everything from a particularly challenging test to a performance on the ice. If only it worked as well now as it always did for him in the past. It’s lost its potency as of late and without Victor here to help coach him through his breathing, the exercise is all but useless. By the time Yuuri gives up, his head is spinning and his pulse is pounding at his temple. Another case of anxiety leading to more anxiety. What a cruel trick of biology.

Huffing, he runs his free hand down his face to his chest. His pulse flies under his roaming fingers and he takes only a moment to count the beats before his hands are moving again, down to his stomach where heat coils, hot and deep. Familiar and oh so unwanted.

“Dammit,” Yuuri mumbles under his breath because he can fight it all he wants: he can fist his hands in the sheets and squeeze his eyes shut and sing The Theme of King JJ until he’s blue in the face. His dick isn’t going to listen until it get what it wants.

“Traitor,” he hisses when he fists himself, immediately settling into a steady pace. “I’m only doing this because I have to. And because I know it will help me.”

He works himself over quickly, a series of rough, tight jerks, taking little more than a second to collect the beading pre-come at his slit to slick his hand. It’s not long before his balls are tight and pulled snug against his body, ready for release. He’s gotten good at this over the years, found all his little buttons and perfected the art of coming quickly. Very quickly. Not the sort of thing men are usually proud of, or so he’s heard, but he’s never prescribed to that belief, especially not when it comes to masturbation. The whole point is to get off, right? To chase that feeling and catch it and then, for one blinding moment, be nowhere and everywhere at the same time. To be in a place where nothing hurts.

So why waste time delaying that gratification, especially now when he needs it more than ever? The nightmares have been keeping him up at night again, some strange combination of last year’s Grand Prix Final and his fears about the upcoming one, all topped off with a giant Failure Eating Rodent he thinks at one time must have been Phichit’s hamster. Just the memory makes him tense up.

The constant anxiety and lack of sleep has taken a toll. And it’s more than mental fatigue, it’s physical. He’s pulling out all his greatest hits right now but his body still refuses to respond.

“So stressed it needs to get off but too stressed to let it happen,” Yuuri laughs, wearily as he gives himself a few extra rough tugs. “Thanks, body.”

 _Victor would know what to do,_ he thinks suddenly and his dick twitches in his hand where he’s still diligently stroking. A guy like Victor probably knows all kinds of tricks, not that Yuuri would ever have the courage to ask him if Victor suddenly appeared back in their room; but it’s no secret to anyone, least of all Yuuri after years of following his career, that Victor is the embodiment of _eros_. That Victor has experience. Finesse.

Something pinches in his stomach at that thought, deep and hot and sickening. Yuuri wrinkles his nose and tugs at himself harder to mask the sensation.

It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. His insides are at war and if he doesn’t get a hold on this all soon then he’s pretty sure he’s going to end up puking instead of coming. Not exactly the sort of release he needs right now. So, he pushes it all out of his brain. Ignores the train of thought that lead to Victor and his experience and focuses on the positive instead, on anything and everything that brings him peace and happiness:

Victor finding inspiration in Yuuri’s skating.

Victor coming to Hasetsu just to be his coach.

Victor’s surprising reaction to the quad flip at the Cup of China.

Victor’s smile.

Victor’s passion.

“Vitya,” he cries as he spills over his hand and tears stream down his flushed face. “Daisuki.” _/I love you./_

_Victor. Eros. I finally understand._

 

**+5**

**The Rostelecom Cup: the airport**

 

The automatic sliding doors at the airport are slow and Yuuri is impatient. He jumps up and down as he watches Victor and Makkachin through the glass, his heart beating a tattoo beneath his breastbone.

_I have a lot I want to tell you , Victor. What do I say first?_

It’s an eternity, a whole other life set apart in time, before the doors finally open and Yuuri is off. This too is a lifetime, and by the time Yuuri collapses against Victor as he throws his arms around him, he’s too exhausted and relieved to do anything but hold on for dear life.

They stand together in silence and peace, supporting one another. This moment is it’s own lifetime, something that Yuuri will treasure forever in that safe and secret place inside of his heart. A place for only the best things. A place for all things Victor.

It’s another lifetime after this before Victor speaks, but Yuuri’s just fine with that. He’ll live one thousand lifetimes and then one thousand more as long as he can spend even a fraction of them with Victor. His heart soars at the thought. His insides are warm and tingly.

 “Yuuri,” Victor begins, determination in his voice but a slight hint of fear in his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about what I can do as your coach from now on.”

“Me too,” Yuuri says and his voice betrays his confidence. The words are right there on the tip of his tongue, all the things he wants to say to Victor, but Yuuri’s no better with words than he is with feelings. This would be so much easier if they were on the ice right now. Yuuri’s always been able to express himself there; always been able to use the music of his body to say things he could never say out loud, no matter how he might try.

If Victor had only seen his last free skate then he’d understand. Yuuri put it all out there, laid his soul and his heart bare on the ice for judgment. In some ways it was better than words, said more than the words ever could.

But Victor wasn’t there when Yuuri showed his love to the world, they’re not on the ice now, and Yuuri can’t wait another moment. Ready or not everything is coming out. These emotions are big and powerful and have a mind of their own.

“Please be my coach until I retire.” _Please stay close to me. Don’t go. I’m afraid of losing you._

Victor’s smile is soft and uncharacteristically shy when he breaks the hug, pulling back only slightly. “It’s almost like a marriage proposal,” he says, kissing Yuuri’s hand to seal the promise. And then Yuuri’s back in his arms, trembling and whimpering, barely holding back tears when Victor whispers, “I wish you’d never retire.” _Our heartbeats are fusing together._

Yuuri shivers from head to toe and shuffles closer to Victor, slotting their feet together intimately. He nuzzles at Victor’s ear and breathes in.

They both sigh, happy and relieved, their bodies instinctually understanding what their mouths cannot say out loud.

 _I'm ready now._ “Let’s win gold together at the Grand Prix Final.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Writing for a fandom other than Supernatural was both challenging and fun. Seriously, I never realized how much I knew about Supernatural just off the top of my head until I wrote this and had to look everything up! 
> 
> If you're interested in any of my writing, original or fanfic, you can find out more here: [LivMasters.com/Me](http://livmasters.com/me/)
> 
> If you want to chat, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/RipUpTheEnding) where I spend my free time obsessing over all the things I love.
> 
> Come say hi and join the madness <3
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](http://ripuptheending.com/).


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